The
exodus is upon us. Change is sweeping
the globe, faster than we beings of fire and stone can keep up with. The air is no longer filled with dandelion
down and spider silk for our wings to drift on. It is filled with choking noxious smog that clouds our eyes and
spoils our translucent wings. We are
beings of fire ourselves, true, but we do not put poison into our flame. These monstrosities of steel and ash do.

I
have seen them; crawling along the ground, spreading every day into huddled
masses of wood and steel and smoke. The
humans flock to these areas, the grit burning their eyes and seeping into their
lungs. I can see their dead and
lifeless eyes from the air as they plod to these imprisoning cages, their wives
and children by their sides. The rich
sit apart, as always, seemingly uncaring that the poor are spinning their lives
away in a prison of foundry fire.

Too
many things are changing. The forests
are receding. The humans are inventing
new, deadlier, weapons that may even prove to be effective against our
kind. There are better lands for us,
hills as yet untarnished by the smoke.
Hills that will be forever green and will see no sentient footstep aside
for our own clawed talons. The elders
are right. Our time here is finally
over. We spared the humans out of mercy
and they have spurned our gift of life.
Let them destroy themselves. We
will move on.

I
want to see these beings one last time.
I circle the town, scales glistening in the early morning sunlight, my
wings yet untarnished by the smoke that is just now starting to pour out of the
factories. A couple people see me;
those that have not lost the ability to dream.
Children run screaming to their parents, a couple beggars in the street
shudder and cross themselves. The adults
will be written off as insane, the children as having an overactive
imagination. We are easily explained
away in this day and age.

I
long to dive, to burn and cleanse away the factory's evil. I want to make them see me through
glistening ivory death and fire birthed of the raging inferno within my
heart. It angers me to see this scar on
the earth's surface. It angers all of
us and so we leave. The younger ones
whisper that this is the coward's way out, a human thing to do. The elders understand that the humans are
too numerous, their weapons of steel and thunder too powerful. They can pierce dragon hide now, the rumors
say. So the elders command that we
leave and the exodus is to begin.

I
hear a bugle cry from above me. I bank
lazily, dipping one wing to the sun, another to the ground, and roll on my
side. He comes from the sun, flaring
his wings to match speed with me, light shining through the dew drop
membrane. His scales are the color of a
mountain stream, rich and clear, whispering of secrets and patterns in the
swirling currents. My own are the
purple of a sunset, deepening to a midnight blue and raven feathers.

We
speak without words, circling the city, watching the humans below. He says that I need to let go, come with him
to our new world, our new home. I do
not reply, letting his words wash over me.
He says our time is over. I
reply that I have heard that too many times.
That I am tired of watching time sweep past us while we remain as
impassive as the mountains themselves.
Have we not done enough to warrant a say in the future of this
world? How dare the humans forget
us? We stood by when they spent
themselves in pointless wars, doing what we could to save them from
themselves. It is we who were here
first, we who allowed these beings to flourish and prosper. And now we are to move on without one last
whisper? I exist! I am an ancient being of the stars and I
soar here, utterly forgotten, ignored.

That
is the curse of immortals.

He
is right. I can feel his meaning beneath
the words and with a soft keen I turn to him, crystal eyes meeting crystal
eyes. To force our will upon this land
we would have to unleash that primal fire deep within us. The earth would be consumed in the flames of
our rage, blackened dirt weeping for the barren trees.

He
turns his wings to the north, to the cold and to the shimmering curtains of
light that will be our final gateway to a new world. I follow, singing a lament as I fly, my last gift to this world. The petals of the song join the wind and are
borne far away through the sky to spread across the earth. I wonder if someday a child will hear the
song and remember. The veil is before
us. Dragon-kind are streaming from all
across the globe, vanishing into the shifting lights. It is the last flight of the dragons. We are leaving this world.

It
will be a glorious new home for us.

I
turn to my companion and watch him leap into the veil and disappear with a last
cry of joy. I rise into the air, my
wings whirling around me. I let out a
banshee shriek that tears the air and dive, straight into the multicolored
aurora. We are gone. We have left.

Remember
us. It is my last request.

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